Beggars in Penang

Cats! (and other long running shows)

If you don't like to give money to beggars, don't sit in the alfresco area of a Starbucks in Penang.

I know, I know - what the hell were we doing at a Starbucks in Malaysia? You don't travel halfway 'round the world to an exotic city famous for its variety of ethnic cuisines to patronise an outlet famous for its oppressingly uniform contribution to globalisation. You can do that at home, right? No matter where home might be!

It's just that I like coffee. Amber doesn't drink the stuff at all, but I'm partial to a cup or two a day. The local coffee is great. Here in Malaysia the beans aren't roasted - they're fried in butter and sugar. Then they're served in a variety of ways from the standard black kopi o to Indian versions with spicy masalas rich with condensed milk. But I've been drinking them for three months now, so when I spied the Starbucks at Prangin Mall I was overcome with nostalgia for a homestyle latté or capuccino. Mau wasn't averse to a muffin or slice of cheesecake either, so we headed over.

Sitting out front watching the street gives the street the chance to watch you, and as anyone on the street knows, kopi o is ninety cents. Everyone also knows that anything at Starbucks is at least a hundred times as expensive, so if you're drinking coffee there you obviously have money to burn.

The first to approach was a middle aged woman who certainly didn't appear to be in dire straits. She was toting a bag, sure, but she looked like she was going shopping, not doing the baglady thing. She walked up to our table and rubbed her thumb and fingers together. I guess I did a doubletake, because then she asked for money. I gave her a couple of ringgit and without so much as a nod she stalked off. Still shocked that I was such an easy mark, I turned to watch her go and saw her sit down and rummage in her bag. She had her back to me so I couldn't see what she was doing, but I imagined it was counting cash, because she then stood up, executed a decisive right face and marched into the mall.

Don't get me wrong - a couple of ringgit is very little, after all - but I'd much rather drop it in the cup of the blind man sitting in the overpass or give it to the old woman collecting plastic bottles from the bins on the street. I'm not looking for expressions of gratitude when I do either - but shopping lady was just plain rude and I felt I'd just been conned.

Next came a man whose act was completely different. He made sure to catch our eye before he approached, asked if we spoke English and apologised for disturbing us before telling us (in impeccable English of his own) how he had just started a job and his motorcycle had broken down. He pointed to it as he explained that he couldn't make himself understood to the people on the street because he didn't speak Malay or the local Chinese dialect. At this point, even though I'm wondering why he didn't try English on them and what he'd do if I offered to go fix his bike, I pulled out ten ringgit and gave it to him. What the hell - at least he had a story and was warm and friendly. I was also perversely hoping that shopping lady was watching to see how he made out.

On our last night in Penang we were eating dinner at Jaya's. A woman came up to the rail beside us and asked me for some money. I said no at first, then noticed her clothes and poor condition. I gave her a few bills. She grabbed them, turned heel and walked. I sighed and turned back to Amber, who said "I wouldn't give money to junkies."

D'OH!

This show can't go on.